Surfing in Ireland

Pulling out of deepest Somerset and it was already raining, by the Severn Bridge the roof rack straps were pouring rain into the car, it was a poor start on a journey to one of the dampest regions of the world. What was more ominous was the fact that a Photographer, Journalist and Videographer were heading to Ireland with no riders just on the hunch that it was late September, and there were bound to be some good surfers hanging around in Bundoran. The hunch was confirmed at Pembroke Dock. South Africans, Duncan Scott and Llewellyn Whitaker were waiting for us along with Newquay Brothers Richard and Russell Mullins.

On leaving Wales we leave the rain behind and wake to a sunny Irish morning and a day long drive across the country to Easky. We are greeted by a lefthander pumping screaming lefts down a ledgey point, the boys bail in and we push off to score a house for the next three weeks in Bundoran, it's bound to pump for days. Next morning it's flat, in fact the next five mornings are flat, mixed with gales and wind. Still when in Ireland do as the Irish and Bundoran's 51 pubs and friendly locals meant a few enjoyable days even if they were flat. The standard surf trip chart spotting was also in full swing and everyday the solitary low pressure sitting off the south of reenland wound itself up promising much but still delivering little. Local Richie Fitzgerald reaffirmed the promise it's the best f*@king chart of the year, he greeted as we wandered into the pub that evening.

Next morning and swell lines were stacking into the bay, one foot swell lines, by afternoon the local wedgie beach was surf able and we all bailed in, the swell had finally arrived. Next morning it had gone! Another day or two blurred past, the low in the Atlantic deepened and still nothing appeared. Duncan had two days left before he had to return for the British Championships, it was the sacrifice that we needed. The morning of his departure and everywhere was on, three to four feet and sunny!

First up was the little left just out of town, a reeling barrel, Indoesque, then into town for some action on the peak as the swell built, and as the afternoon passed the swell hit big time and by evening the little ledgey left out of town was a heaving barrel to rival any other wave. The session was short, but heavy, local Richie scored a couple of bombs and paid with some heavy maulings, American Dylan got several big poundings, but it was Llewellyn who stole the show, on a fair size wave he got the briefest of cover-ups and then proceeded to claim it for the next one hundred yards down the wave, umm.

After everyone had got out safely we hit the road to check a couple of sizeable reefs down the road. The potential for anyone inclined to want to ride surf on boards over nine feet was astounding, and we're not talking fat big waves we?re talking top to bottom down the line screamers, but as no one had a board over seven foot we just watched as the light faded on the unridden realm.

The next four days pumped, mostly off shore we'd ride a point here, a ledge there a peak over there, you get the picture. Then the weather returned and onshore mush was the standard. We stuck it out for another couple of weeks, the odd good surf here and there, a few pints of Guinness. Eventually everyone decided to bail. One week after we left the whole Curren family turned up and the whole area turned on again, unfortunately without us as witnesses.